


Magenta

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [67]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Juju-on-that-yeet requested: You know what I'd like to see? I'd like to see Bim get upset when Dr. Iplier is, for whatever reason, not there or not available to help, and Wilford has to help Bim on his own.





	Magenta

Wilford would readily admit that he worked Bim too hard.  


He would also readily admit that he didn’t care. As long as work got done around the studio, and as long as he didn’t have to lift a finger, it would be fine. 

After all, Bim was very _fixable_ – Dr. Iplier had, however unwittingly, proved that. As many times as Wilford had pushed Bim to the breaking point, the Doctor had always brought him back.

Now, Wilford didn’t worry about breaking someone that bounced back to his side so easily. 

“Okay, move the light a little to the left… no!” Wilford shouted, voice echoing through the makeshift rafters. “You _dunce_ , I said a _little_!”   


“Sorry,” came Bim’s voice from above, straddling the catwalk, bent double over the spotlight. “It’s… it’s hot.”  


Wilford pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other rabbiting his butterfly knife back and forth. He squinted up into the light again, seeing the outline of Bim’s legs, and considered how accurately he could throw a knife at him. 

Nah, not worth it. Not right now, anyway. “Suck it up, Trimmer.”

“I– I think I got it.” The spotlight swung across the stage suddenly, a wide, blazing arc that threw itself directly in Wilford’s eyes, and there was a clatter overhead. The light went out.  


Wilford blinked stars out of his eyes in anger. “Bim, what did _you **do**_?!”

The rafters were silent, and Wilford allowed himself to be worried for all of a second. “Answer me,” he called, tapping his foot, annoyance creeping into his voice.

From the darkness above came a quiet squeak. “I’m okay;” but Bim certainly didn’t sound okay. 

“Did you break the light?!” Wilford tamped his mustache with his free hand, glaring at the limp silhouette overhead.

Bim gasped, shuddering, and appeared on the ground with a splash of purple light. “I’m sorry, Will, I think the bulb is broken–”

The bulb seemed to be the least of Bim’s worries. Even as Wilford watched, Bim cradled a bloody hand, his fingers burned and crushed by the weight of the falling spotlight.

Wilford launched into a rant– “That was my only working light, how could you be so _careless_ –” while Bim, knees still a little wobbly, collapsed into a chair. 

Finally out of breath, Wilford turned away from Bim, hands in shaking fists. “I knew we should’ve let you fade,” he muttered under his breath, half hoping Bim would hear, half hoping he wouldn’t.

Bim’s head snapped up at the words, tear tracks fading on his cheeks. “ _What_?” 

A _plink,_  overhead, and the broken spotlight dropped shards of glass into Wilford’s hair. 

“You heard me,” Wilford snapped, sudden, whirling around. “I wouldn’t have to buy a new spotlight every month, or bother with you underfoot, or–”  


Wilford only stops yelling when he sees that Bim isn’t crying. 

“You’re right,” Bim said, standing up, every line of his frame shaking with suppressed emotion. “You should’ve let me die when you had the chance.”  


Wilford rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so _dramatic_ –”  


“You’re right,” Bim shouted over him, taking a step closer, eyes flicking to the knife in Wilford’s hand, still for once. “So why don’t you just kill me now?”  


Wilford’s hand itched, but he forced himself to laugh. “Doc would just fix you up, don’t be ridiculous.”

Bim glanced down at his hand, still bloody and swollen. “He can’t fix everything,” he whispered, the fight leaving him. 

Finally, something clicked in Wilford’s head. Bim’s shoulders sagged, and Wilford took a half step forward. “Bim, I…”

“Save it, Warfstache.” Bim flinched a little, turning to leave, still staring at his hand.

Wilford stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, trying not to notice the way that Bim panicked, trying to keep his distance. “Bim, wait.”

“Wilford, I–”  


Wilford hugged him, sudden, like he’d seen the others do. It was awkward, Bim stiff against him, and Wilford pulled away quickly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, hoping that he meant it. 

Bim’s expression softened after a moment, still holding back tears. If there was anywhere he shouldn’t be vulnerable, it was in front of Wilford. And yet…

“Thanks,” he said, pulling away unsteadily.   


Wilford searched Bim’s face for a moment, unsure, then turned away. “Anyway,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “I should…”

He turned back around, and Bim was gone. 


End file.
